Love
by Lucy Hale
Summary: A missing scene from Diseased. This is slash between Darien and Bobby, but tame slash.


This takes place during Diseased, after Darien gets rescued but before he shows up in Arnaud's back yard with the Keeper and Bobby. Just so that's clear. It's also written in a new form for me, first person present or whatever the English teachers would call it. Darien's POV, and boy, did it turn out sappy. Hope you like it anyway. It's not my usual fare. 

And, so you know, in case you couldn't guess…this is slash. Tame slash. Darien and Bobby, because anyone else is just silly. G

****

I didn't want to come home tonight. 

Okay, so there wasn't much else I could do. I mean, I wasn't about to lie on my ass in the lab or in some hospital. I've had enough of sick places in the last few days to last the rest of my life.

Still, I didn't want to come home. 

And I know why. 

You demonstrated plainly enough when you showed up, like I knew you would. No flimsy oxygen masks or disinfectant sprays this time. There was no one here for you to perform for. 

This is just another night. Just the two of us. And every casual little attitude you've had to strike during this whole thing fell away, like I knew it would. Like I need it to.

I need to see what you really think and how you really feel. I need it, but at the same time it's almost a burden. 

It makes me ache inside to hear you talk about how scared you were. I was in Arnaud's hands, he was doing God knew what to me. He's already proven himself homicidal, and he sure has a grudge against me. So you worried, and you hid it under that mask you're so damned good at. 

You told me earlier, and I listened. I crave hearing it, really. I'm probably a bit greedy in that. I like to hear that I'm missed, that people care. Everyone does, I guess, but I'm almost addicted to it. I'm addicted to hearing you say how much you care.

Maybe it's a psychological thing. I know myself well enough to make an analysis, I think. I'm a pretty caring person, I've got a big heart. I like people. I love people. I've loved quite a few in my time. But, in return, I've been tossed around, more or less. The people who were supposed to love me didn't much. The people I liked so much tolerated me. 

Oh, there've been a few exceptions. My brother, though he was pretty much disgusted by me and my chosen life, he loved me. My aunt loves me.

Still, they're family. Outside of them…

I loved Casey. And she didn't love me enough to stick with me when things got weird. I'm pretty sure I loved Kate, but she ran off and found her a computer geek husband. 

I could love Leila, but I'm never gonna see her again, unless it's a picture in some magazine. 

And I love you. 

You see that, don't you? You understand this streak? Most people I've loved have left me. So I have to hear you say it. I crave those words like a chick in some romance novel my aunt used to read all the time. I long to hear you say you need me, you were worried, you don't know what you would do if something ever happened to me. I'm addicted, as much as I'm addicted to counteragent. 

It's a selfish thing, too, I know that. I don't mean it to be. I know tonight when you told me you loved me, I didn't say it back. Because I was too grateful to remember to say it. I was too busy counting myself lucky to demonstrate that I felt the same way.

I try not to do that. I hate when I slip up. You need to hear it as much as I do, I think. After Viv and your family that never calls you and being shipped from agency to agency… You've been made to feel unwanted in even more ways than I have. You deserve someone who will treat you…well, the way you treat me. 

I'm trying to do better. And I hope you don't think for a minute that I don't say things like that because they're not true. It's true. I do love you. I admit that I love easily, but I do love. It's sincere. It would crush me if something happened to split us up. 

That's why I'm sitting here at some obscene hour of the morning staring at you as you sleep. I'm trying to make myself better. Trying to give myself all these little pep talks that I use to get through the days. 

You stir. 

I'm not surprised. There's something in you that's always been a mind reader where I'm concerned. 

Your eyes open and you look up at me as if drawn. 

I love your eyes. They're as dark as mine are and they show every single feeling you've ever had. 

"What's wrong?" you ask automatically. You start to sit up. Your voice is thick with sleep, but it only takes you a split second to wake up. It's always been easy for you. I wonder if it was conditioning in the military or something that makes you alert and ready for action the minute you open your eyes.

I don't want to lie to you, but I couldn't tell you what I'm feeling if I wanted to. "Nothing big. Go back to sleep."

"You feeling sick?"

I grimace at that. "No."

"Darien--"

"If I was feeling sick I would tell you. As much as I don't want to go sticking more needles into my arm, I'd rather get a shot if I need it than get that damned super flu thing again."

You sit up. You nod slightly, accepting my words, but you still study me with those intense, dark eyes. "So what is it?"

I shake my head. I sit up a little more, and flinch at the soreness in my ribs.

You lean forward, looking like you'll catch me if I so much as sway. "Jesus, you in pain? You need some--"

"Bobby." I can't help but smile at you. You do care. As much as I long to hear the words, I can also see it in everything you do. In the way those eyes stare at me. "I'm fine. I'm a little sore, but…"

"Let me see."

I roll my eyes, but the concern soothes me in a way you probably don't understand. 

I push the covers away from my chest and stomach, revealing bruises. I wince slightly as I look at them.

Arnaud's men were not polite. One punch to that smug Swiss asshole and they had me on the ground, kicking the hell out of me. 

I didn't break any ribs or anything, but it hurts. And now my stomach is one dark patch, all mottled browns and grays. My back has a lot of spotted bruises, and it hurts to take deep breaths.

My eyes come back up to you. You're staring down at me, and I can't tell what you're thinking. It's not just the dimness of the room, either. The sun's coming up, but I still can't read you.

As open as your eyes are, and as expressive as you get, when you want to shut it off, you're as blank as an android. I hate it when you do that.

"Fucker," is all you say, quietly. 

I agree, because I know you're talking about Arnaud. Even though he didn't touch me, any anger has to be directed at him.

I expect you to ask again how I'm feeling. These bruises look even worse than they feel, and you'll think I'm lying to you that I feel fine.

But you don't. You look up and meet my eyes. "You sure you're okay?"

I nod again slowly. I hurt, but there's nothing you could do, and there's no use getting you more worried than you already are. 

"Get some sleep," you say, sliding back under the covers. 

I'm surprised. For a minute I just watch you. You turn on your side and shut your eyes.

It's not what I expected. I'm not really sure what to think of it. You're closing yourself off, and that's not a good thing. It never is, with you. You close off when you feel defensive, or paranoid. Or you start thinking about anything bad that's ever happened to you.

Which one is it now, Bobby? Why don't you tell me when things get bad? God knows I complain to you loudly enough. 

I lay back down, though. If you don't want to talk, you won't. I know that. 

I rest my head on the pillow and blink up at the ceiling. The room's getting lighter, and I'll have a hard time going back to sleep. 

You let out a small noise. I wonder if you're dreaming already. It usually takes you longer to fall asleep.

I turn my head to look, but you're turned so I can't see your face.

But you're not still. You look like you're shaking. And you make that noise again.

I realize what it looks like, and it blows my mind.

I can't even think it to myself until I know for sure. "Bobby?"

You don't move. You go a little more tense.

"Bobby. Look at me."

There's a pause, but we both know that there's nothing you deny me. If I ask it of you, you do it. It's unfair using that to my advantage, but…

Jesus. I can't breathe when you turn your head. 

I was right. There are tears in your eyes, and wet trails on your face. The sight of it stops my heart.

Those eyes…my God. They reflect even more than usual through a sheen of tears. I've never seen this before. Never even thought about it on you before. "What...?" I can't voice a complete thought. My hand comes up of it's own accord and touches one of the wet trails on your face. I'm in awe of this. Is it for me? Did my getting hurt really affect you so much that you would let yourself cry for me?

"Sorry," you say. "Must be that time of the month. I'm all overemotional."

"Bobby." I breathe your name out. I'm not willing to lighten this up, despite your attempt. Something is happening here that I have to be able to understand. "What is it?"

You turn your body to face me. "Everything," you say quietly.

You sound defeated. Whether it's defeat because I won't let you joke your way out, or defeat at life in general, I don't know.

I've never thought of you like this. There was one time in the rubber room, after I injected myself…you came close. But this…

I never wanted to see this. I don't ever want to see this again. You look so sad. God.

I reach out to you. "I'm okay, Bobby."

You smile faintly. "I know."

"So…what?"

You turn your head to look up at the ceiling. A part of me is relieved not to look at those liquid eyes anymore, but the rest of me misses your gaze immediately. 

"It all just kinda catches up to me sometimes, you know?"

I shake my head. "No. I don't know."

"It…" You still don't look at me. "I have dreams about that one case, with the Keeper and the sleep clinics?" You glance over to see my nod. As if you need to remind me. "It's that kind of thing."

"You mean the Keeper getting in danger like that?" I voice this question carefully. I know you love me, Bobby, but there are times when you do your thing, flirting with the Keeper, and I'm not as sure.

"No. Not her. That guy. The bike guy."

I think for a second. "The guy who tried to kill us?"

You nod. Your eyes stay on the ceiling. "I don't know if you were watching when it happened, but…he looked at me, Darien. After you knocked him off his bike, he looked at me. Looked right into my eyes, and pulled that trigger on his own head. I got to watch another person blow their brains out, just a few steps away from me. I can't…really…I don't know. I can't get a grip on it. Yuri…" 

You glance over again. I nod. I remember the guy. 

"Yuri and me go way back. Back to the old days, when he was the bad guy and everyone knew where everyone else stood. He was a snitch. The Feds used him to brake codes on some of the KGB messages we intercepted, but it turned out to be a waste. He didn't have clearance to know the codes for any of the important stuff."

You pause, and smile. It doesn't look like a happy smile. "I think that's kinda why we became friends. I was on the outs with the Feds already, and he was this big joke with the KGB. We had a lot in common." You shrug, losing the self-pity that trickles into your voice only when you don't have the control to stop it. You hate pity, I know. Especially pity directed towards you, even by yourself. 

"Anyways. We been friends for a while. And he died in my arms today. I watched Arnaud's flunkies put about five holes in his chest, and he bled out his last right there with me." You shake you head. Your eyes look glazed, and I think you're lost in the memory.

I didn't know. I'm not sure what to say. No one told me Yuri was dead. Honestly, I wasn't really planning to ever think of the guy again. But he was your friend. And I hate the look on your face. 

"And now you," you say after a minute. "This. This whole thing. The fact that that bastard took you and let his brainless muscle kick the shit out of you." You laugh quietly. "You may think it's funny, but the violence wears me out sometimes."

"Why would I think that's funny?" I ask in return. Sometimes I really wonder what you think I see in you. 

"'Cause. It's my job. It's the line I feed you all the time, about the work and duty and all that other…" You turn to look at me again. "I've been in the war game since after high school. And it'll kill me someday. I'll never get out of it. But sometimes…I can't just think of that kid putting that gun up to his head and be okay. I look at myself now, I see Yuri's blood on my hands. And I can't see you without seeing those marks they put on you." 

I swallow. I had no idea you felt this way. I know it overwhelms me sometimes, being part of such a dangerous, violent world. But you. You seem so unaffected. You show no signs.

But that's you all over. Hiding the really important stuff because you're afraid of what'll happen if you show it to someone. 

It hits me, like a thud that starts my heart beating faster. You are showing me. You're actually opening up to me, and telling me all this stuff that you no doubt see as weakness about yourself. You trust me enough to…

God, I love you. 

As selfish as I am, as much as I need constant affirmation about my place in your life, I know this isn't about me. It has nothing to do with me. It's all about you, and what you're feeling.

And I can't speak, because it strikes me all of the sudden how much more of a sign of your love this is than you saying the words. The fact that you're telling me this, sharing this part of you that isn't about me at all. That drives in the fact that you do care. You won't just leave me, or be disgusted, or not love me back.

I shake my head, wondering. I know I should say something, but I just can't. I look at you like this and I can't think. I love you. That's all I know. I never want to see tears in your eyes again. I never want you to bottle so much inside that you cry into a pillow instead of talk to me.

I don't need to hear you say it. You know, I have the feeling that if you never tell me you love me again, I'll still never doubt it.

You've given me, in the last few minutes, everything I've ever wanted. You've given me security, trust. You know me, Bobby, and you've chosen to let me know you. 

I love you. That's all I can keep in my head right now. I love you, I love you. God, I love you so much. This makes what I felt for Casey nothing. Kate? Leila? It's nothing.

Maybe I don't love easily after all. Maybe I just never knew what love really felt like. 

This feeling…I want to tell you. I want to explain it. Because something this good, this warm, has to be enough to keep those images haunting you away. It has to be enough to make the violence worth it. It is for me. It makes the gland, the madness, the counteragent, the Agency, everything, completely worth it. 

It's amazing. It's better than I've felt in a long, long time. The regrets that I had -- saying yes to Kevin, robbing that one particular house, making a deal with the Agency -- are melting away. They're no longer regrets. They've brought me here, with you. They've let me feel this for another human being, who feels the same towards me. 

God, can you possibly know what I'm thinking? 

"Bobby…" I hardly recognize my voice. I'm pinched and broken, quiet. Almost in awe. 

You turn to me. You must have heard the odd sound of my voice. "Darien--" You sit up in surprise, and your hand reaches out to me. 

I feel your fingers on my face, and I smile. Your hand draws back, and I see glittering wetness on your fingers. 

I've caught the tears from you, and I didn't even notice. 

You have to know. I can't hide this. I can't let it be like it was only an hour ago, where you tell me you love me and I say nothing back. 

"Bobby." There are no words for it. Not in anything I can think up. Not in any of the great words of great men that I have stored up in my memory. Shakespeare's sonnets are just words. They don't match this. 

So I open my mouth and say the first thing that comes out. "I adore you."

I hear the words coming from my mouth and smile. It sounds so damned corny, I just hope you can see that I'm sincere.

You draw back a little. Your brow furrows; you seem surprised. But you look at me. Those powerful eyes dig deep into mine, and you know. I see in your eyes as you realize what I'm saying. You hear the words, and you know it wasn't just a repeated sentiment. No 'I love you, too' said out of obligation. 

I stare at you, trying hard to seal this moment in my memory. No matter what happens in the future, tonight will stay with me. 

As I watch, I suddenly see that darkness in you, the haunted glint in your eyes, start to vanish. It shocks me, because only now that I see it go do I realize it's always been there, since the first day I met you. 

It drains out, and your eyes clear of tears, and you smile. And it's so amazing I want to say the words again.

But you don't let me. You look at me with that smile and a light in your eyes I've never seen, and it steals my words from me. 

You break the silence finally, reaching out to me. "Thank you," you say quietly.

I know what you mean. I know you return my feelings, just as strongly. I know you've just realized what I've just realized -- that someone on this earth loves you the way you've always deserved to be loved. And I think that somehow those three little words I spoke manage to heal you in ways a million psychiatrists and pills never could. 

I would go through every second of my life over again, knowing what I know now. I would spend an eternity in prison, go through madness a hundred times more horrible than what I go through now. It would all be worth it. 

And you would do the same for me. I know that with a confidence I've never had before. You would go through your hell again. You would watch Yuri die over and over again, watch hundreds of people kill themselves in front of you, if that was what it would take to bring us to this moment. 

Fortunately, we don't have to. We're here now. I'm in a place I've always wanted to be, but I never even knew existed.

I love you. It's still all I can really put into coherent thought.

But, really, it's all that I need. 


End file.
